Summer Sundays
an excerpt

Matt groaned loudly as he hit the ground. This was already shaping up to be a bad day. It was a cool Sunday morning in mid March, and the motocross season in Colorado had just started for the sixteen-year-old and his KX250. It was his tenth racing season, having joined the race circuit as a child just a year after he got a minibike for his fifth birthday. While he loved the sport, and would never dream of quitting, but his luck never seemed to be there when he needed it.

His mom, Patty, liked to say he rode faster than his guardian angel could fly. He ran lap times that were some of the best in the district, but his consistency had always been a problem. It was a rare race day that he didn't crash at least once, and his medical records at the local ER probably rivaled Travis Pastrana's.

"At least this is only practice," he grumbled as he climbed to his feet painfully, giving the flagger a thumbs-up to signal that they didn't need to send a medic, threw one leg over the side of the bike again and got to work kickstarting it as the other racers passed wide to the left, directed by the track officials waving the yellow caution flags.